


in the back of my mind

by somewhereelse



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: You know how when you’re talking to someone, and you don’t have a drink or pockets, so you suddenly forget what you’re supposed to do with your hands?Or, Tobin’s and Christen’s crushes suddenly reappear in their lives ten years later, and theystilldon’t know how to act around them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the serious summary:
> 
> Tobin Heath and Christen Press spend the summer of 2009 playing together for the Pali Blues before advancing to the professional league. It _should_ be just the start of their storied football careers, but the league’s collapse and the U.S. Soccer Federation’s dismissal bring their dreams to a sudden halt. What happens when they meet again a decade later?

When she wakes up, Kelley has an Instagram notification. It’s not an annoying “so-and-so posted for the first time in a while” thing, but an actual direct message from, surprisingly, not a porn bot. She hasn’t really given much thought to the person behind the name lately aside from mindless double taps whenever there’s a post in her timeline, but that doesn’t mellow her excitement.

**christenpress:** Hey! What’s your number?

**kelleyohara:** I knew it. I knew if I just held out long enough you’d give into my charms eventually

It’s hours later, when she’s getting home from work, that Kelley receives a response to her response that was also hours after Christen’s initial message. In her mind, that makes perfect sense since as far as she last checked, Christen Press is somewhere in London leading a very glamorous European lifestyle. Okay, practically the same office lifestyle she’s living but with semi-reliable public transportation and old-ass buildings that are pretty to look at but probably have shitty insulation.

**christenpress:** Somehow you’re still not funny  
**christenpress:** Seriously though. You changed it after college right?

**kelleyohara:** H-e-double hockey sticks (kept it pg just for you pressy) no  
**kelleyohara:** 770 4 lyfe

Kelley’s not sure what she’s expecting—another message maybe since their time zones seem to have found common daylight hours—but it isn’t a phone call from a 213 number. “Hello?” she answers cautiously because she can kind of guess who’s on the other end but it’s still an unknown number.

“I can’t believe you still have the same phone number. You’ve been living in California for pretty much a _decade_.”

“Pressy! What’s up? You in town visiting the fam?” she asks before letting herself into her apartment.

“Even better. I moved back.”

Kelley eyes her listless roommate sprawled out on their couch. Tobin’s spaced out in one of her hard chills and hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge her so Kelley tosses her keys at her in greeting.

“Rude, dude,” Tobin grumbles the complaint to her back because she’s already walking into her bedroom and shutting her door.

Huh.

_Wait a minute._

After tiptoeing back down the hallway, she stares at Tobin for a second more, and then a memory and a plan start to form.

“Kell, are you still there?”

She rushes back to her room before answering, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s amazing!” Christen starts to respond with something about feeling trapped in her time capsule of a childhood bedroom, but Kelley cuts her off with, “Hey, are you single?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back. (My brain’s still not, like, psyched about it.)


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: timeline. Once the WPS folded, the NT dropped the ball with the quarter(!) of the 2019 WC squad born in 88/89, and everyone moved onto normal lives, and just don’t think too hard about it. (I find the birthday clumps in 88/89 and 92/93 mildly fascinating. It’s literally half the team born in those four years when the age range spans 16 years.)
> 
> I wrote the above note before too much of this somehow turned into a meditation on upper middle class millennials and quarter-life crises. “Don’t think too hard about it.” Hah.

“Do you remember Pressy?”

Blocked by large, mirrored sunglasses, Tobin can’t see Kelley’s eyes, but her tone is casual. For half a minute, Tobin’s heart rate speeds up, panicked that there’s a hidden agenda to Kelley’s seemingly offhand question. But then she remembers. 

No one knows. 

Tobin has always been excellent at keeping things close to her chest when she wants to. It’s the one benefit to being thought of as, and pretty much _being_, oblivious, getting to use it as both offense and defense. She’s great at breaking tension and usually isn’t even aware she’s doing it. 

Kelley is obviously not putting that much thought into the simple question. She literally nudges Tobin out of her reflective state with her foot and repeats, “Tobs, Press?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tobin clears her throat and scoots higher in her chair, “Stanford and Pali Blues, right?”

“And people say you don’t pay attention.” Kelley grins smugly at her annoyed eye roll. “I invited her tonight.”

Kelley says it as a statement, not a question. Why would she ask when Tobin’s never cared about who comes over to their place? Every and anyone is welcome at Kelbin O’Heath’s House of Mischief.

But Christen Press isn’t just _anyone_.

Christen was Tobin’s first crush. 

Not ever, but her first real one where she felt equipped to imagine all the things that go on in a real relationship and utterly unequipped to even approach the girl as anything other than a teammate. Because Christen was beautiful and smart and kind and driven and _precise_, and what chance did Tobin—oblivious, scattered, soccer-obsessed—have at impressing a girl like that? 

Which is where being oblivious, or being _seen_ as oblivious, helped. Because Tobin would end up staring at Christen from afar and sometimes trailing after her mindlessly, and when someone would ask about it, she’d just shrug and claim she was off in space. That way, no one ever noticed the common denominator in Tobin’s NASA missions was Christen Press.

Yet, somehow, just her (nick)name is still enough for the butterflies in Tobin’s stomach to lift off.

* * *

“You remember Tobs, right?”

It’s a phone call so Kelley can’t see the way the simple question freezes Christen in place. Hilariously because she’s got her phone sandwiched between her shoulder and ear and she’s balancing on one foot to get her shoe off. The way she slowly lists to one side is like something out of a movie, until she quickly sets her other foot down to catch herself.

“Chris, you still there?”

“Uh, yeah,” Christen drops onto her sofa, letting her shoe fall to the floor. “Tobin? From Pali Blues? What about her?”

“We live together!” The excited tone tells her Kelley is probably bouncing in place. “We’re having people over tonight. You’re coming, too.”

It’s not really posed as a question, but Christen finds herself agreeing anyway with a short, almost high-pitched, “Sure!” Kelley hangs up after a promise to text their address and a time, and then she’s left staring at her phone in amazement and maybe dread.

Tobin Heath, AKA the first girl Christen ever liked _liked_.

Infinitely confident and talented on the field, but also surprisingly goofy and caring off, in a way that neurotic, young Christen envied and then very quickly crushed on. _Hard_. And proceeded to do nothing about because Tobin was not only intimidating with her Olympic gold medal but also a grade older, which seemed like a bigger deal when they were just out of their teens. Her crush-induced nerves made it hard for Christen to treat Tobin like a normal teammate so she steered _kind of_ clear, as much as anyone with a crush can willingly avoid the object of their affections. And once they weren’t in the same circles anymore, out of sight and out of mind became true.

Until now. Because she hasn’t even laid eyes on Tobin Heath again yet, but Tobin’s already back on her mind.

Christen uses a few deep breaths to bring herself back to the present and her current situation surrounded by moving boxes and suitcases in her new home. Just the idea of unpacking enough to unearth her going out clothes is stress-inducing. Which means she’ll be a giant ball of nerves by the time night rolls around.

Time to phone a sister.

* * *

Tobin hears the doorbell ring and instantly knows who’s on their front step. Anyone else would just walk in, but, again, Christen Press is not just anyone. She’s probably brought them a gift or something, too, like the effortlessly thoughtful person she is.

On the one hand, Tobin wishes she was close enough to the front door to answer, but on the other... Well, it’s probably best to put off her inevitable embarrassment for as long as possible. She’s pretty sure being around Christen is going to turn her right back into a tongue-tied college kid.

(Tobin may have picked up Kelley’s phone to peek at her Instagram for half a second before feeling like a stalker and putting it down. In the short glimpse she caught, Christen may be as stunning as ever.)

Tobin stays in her perch, sitting on a corner of the kitchen counter and hemmed in by Alex and Lindsey loudly debating _something_. Doesn’t stop her from hearing Kelley’s excited squeal, one that makes the debate come to a sudden end. Alex raises her eyebrows, and Lindsey jerks her head towards the doorway.

“Who’s here?” Lindsey asks because she practically lives on their couch some weeks and knows everyone who might show up to hang out.

“Friend of Kell’s, I guess,” Tobin mumbles into her beer. It’s only a matter of time before Kelley pulls Christen into the kitchen for a drink, and her heart’s already threatening to burst out of her rib cage. “What’s going on at work, Al?” she tries to distract them.

It doesn’t work. She and Alex (and Kelley) have known each other from ODP stuff since nearly forever and then their short stints with the senior national team, and they all fell right back into step when Alex and Kelley started working for the City and County of Los Angeles, doing things in politics and development and red tape that Tobin doesn’t even pretend to be interested in. Her sudden curiosity is a red flag.

Alex’s eyebrows jump even higher, and she ignores Tobin’s question to ask, “What friend? We know all her friends.”

Any second now, Kelley and Christen are going to walk into the kitchen, and it would be even weirder if Tobin pretends to be _that_ oblivious. Kelley would call her out since they already talked about it, and Alex knows that _Tobin_ knows that _Alex_ knows Christen. Freaking Pac-10, or 12 now, _whatever_. Freaking Hermann Trophy.

Finally, she grumbles a barely audible, “Press.”

The name takes a second to register for Alex while Lindsey silently mouths the word, looking as confused as she should be. Then the proverbial lightbulb goes off, but Tobin can’t tell exactly which emotion, if any, is crossing Alex’s face.

“Press, as in _Christen_ Press?”

“Who’s Christen Press?” Lindsey immediately and loudly jumps in, cluing into the weird tension that is Tobin’s hesitation and Alex’s very controlled expression.

“Only the second-best forward in the history of Stanford soccer!”

Kelley bellows the answer into the entirely too small kitchen, and everyone winces. Except for Christen who blushes and pinches Kelley’s arm.

Like an out-of-body experience, Tobin can only watch as Alex approaches the pair. She scoffs at a wildly grinning Kelley, “If you’re trying to claim _yourself_ as the best, debatable. _Highly_.” To Christen, she offers a friendly enough, “Hey, Christen. Good to see you,” and an only marginally awkward hug.

Christen’s arms come up to wrap around Alex’s back, and Tobin spots, as she predicted, a wine bottle clutched in one hand that Kelley relieves her of.

“Alex! It’s been forever, right? What have you been up to?”

Tobin’s still sitting, silent and unmoving, white noise in her ears as Christen and Alex catch up. She’s glad to see the collegiate rivalry left in the past while they carry on like any other school acquaintances who’ve grown up into full-fledged adults. Christen’s smiles lose that slight stiffness that comes from being surrounded by strangers, and Tobin doesn’t even notice that the corners of her lips curl up, too.

Not until Lindsey elbows her thigh. “Stare much?” she points out lowly, covering the words with her glass.

“I’m not,” Tobin immediately denies. She shoves off the counter, looking for an escape from Lindsey’s knowing smirk, but there’s only one way out of the kitchen, and it’s blocked.

Climbing over the peninsula would be ridiculous so she glances back at the trio, willing them to move into the living room. Instead, her eyes just catch on Christen, and Tobin’s suddenly _looking_ at her in that way she’s been trying to avoid with quick glances. A short, black dress exposing long, tan legs, a wide smile that almost disappears her mesmerizing eyes, and a glowing confidence that she wears so well. Somehow, she’s not only stunning but also insanely hotter. Tobin forgets that she’s trying to leave the kitchen undetected and, well, that she’s been staring so hard and long that someone (besides Lindsey) is bound to notice.

Then Christen _does_ notice.

Her mouth snaps shut, almost audibly, and Tobin’s fascinated with the way the muscles move when Christen clenches her jaw on a sudden swallow. Their eyes lock, just like in a corny movie. Tobin finds herself underwater so fast, she doesn’t even register Lindsey’s stifled laughter and barely even hears Kelley loudly calling her name.

* * *

Christen notices Tobin the second Kelley leads her into the kitchen. How can she not when Tobin’s sitting on the counter just radiating that natural, cool confidence Christen’s always associated with her? And she looks amazing, more settled in her tanned skin (and her jawline), with hair that probably still air-dries looking that good, and just more appealing to Christen on this weird cellular level. She grips onto the wine she brought them tighter, using it to direct her focus onto Kelley and not how freaking attractive Tobin Heath in her thirties is.

Thank God for Alex Morgan.

Not that Christen predicted she would ever think those words, but time and distance has softened their competitive edges, towards each other at least. They’re suddenly capable of having a conversation that’s actually warm and funny and engaging. She finds herself pushing Tobin’s looming presence to the back of her mind enough to smile at Kelley’s and Alex’s stories.

At least until Tobin moves, jumping off the counter and pushing past the blonde next to her in search of something. Christen’s not sure what because eventually Tobin just stops in the middle of the small kitchen and stares. At _Christen_. 

And before long, she can’t help but ignore the other girls and stare back.

Then Alex is wiggling her fingers in front of Christen’s face while biting back a smile, and Kelley is calling every variation of Tobin’s name she’s ever thought of. They snap out of it, almost simultaneously, and Tobin shuffles over to them, gaze constantly roving around before slowly settling on Christen again.

“Hey, Chris,” she says softly, using the nickname that’s always sounded right rolling off Tobin’s tongue.

“Hi!” 

Is her smile bigger? Because it feels like it so Christen tamps it down but is pretty sure her face just looks weird. Speaking of weird, it’d be strange to hug Alex and not Tobin, right? Especially when she and Alex had that pseudo rivalry that apparently took becoming adults to settle down but she and Tobin generally got along.

She opens her arms, and Tobin’s eyes widen just the slightest before she’s stepping forward, and—

This is _nice_.

Christen’s arms are wrapped around Tobin’s shoulders, and Tobin’s arms have found home around Christen’s waist. This hug’s warmer than the quick one she and Alex exchanged and more intimate than Kelley’s even though her shorter friend about squeezed the life out of her. Christen feels her heart flutter at the same time the smile on her face drops.

Oh no. 

Not _again_.

* * *

“Hi, I’m Lindsey.”

Tobin hears it from over her shoulder and immediately tenses. One, because she’s just realized how long she’s been hugging Christen (not nearly long enough), and two, because they completely ignored Lindsey during this little reunion when she’s the only other person in the kitchen. She pulls away too quickly and nearly trips over her own feet putting distance between herself and Christen.

Christen doesn’t seem at all bothered. She just slides her arm free from where she had it flung around Tobin’s shoulder to offer a hand to Lindsey. “Hi! Sorry, we’re being so rude. I’m Christen. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just blame Tobin like usual,” Lindsey shrugs with a wicked grin.

Her offended “Hey” is lost to Kelley’s snort and Christen asking Lindsey how she knows this ragtag bunch. Tobin doesn’t realize she’s back to staring at Christen as Lindsey explains Tobin being one of her Development Academy coaches years ago, how they grew close, becoming like sisters, and how she hangs out here during downtime from the camps in Carson and anytime else she craves time in California.

She watches carefully as both interest and disappointment flickers across Christen’s expression. 

It’s something they all had to come to terms with: losing their playing careers to bad timing and worse management. While they’ve found new niches and fulfillment in other careers, it’s hard not to experience some regret in those “what if” moments. Tobin knows how Kelley and Alex worked through those rough times since they stayed close while playing for their New England clubs, but she lost track of Christen down in Florida. In fact, she has no idea what Christen’s been up to or why she’s suddenly standing in their kitchen or how long she and Kelley have kept in touch.

Lindsey should be asking those types of questions (so Tobin doesn’t have to) but instead she’s fascinated by the stories of when they were all still shithead college students. Well, all except Christen who always seemed to be above those antics, even when she was convinced to participate.

Everyone’s immersed in reliving the glory days so Tobin escapes to the living room then the balcony, glad to find the small area empty. She needs the space to recover from Christen’s presence. Being around the other girl—_woman_ now—still feels like flying too close to the sun.

* * *

Tobin’s always doing her own thing.

It was true back when they were college kids, and it’s still true now. There’s a sizeable but manageable group of who Christen assumes are close friends gathered in her apartment, but Tobin’s out on the balcony, and everyone seems to know to leave her alone. She’s not drinking or smoking or doing _anything_ but just leaning against the railing and staring out at the ocean a few blocks away.

Christen wonders if she can hear the waves over the evening traffic. She wonders if Tobin would mind if she joined her out there. She wonders how she’s already headed back into this one-sided infatuation—_fascination_, for the sake of her dignity.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, we’re assuming a lot about people’s personalities here.

“Oh. Tobin. Hi,” Christen looks confused before tiptoeing to peer over her shoulder, “Is Kelley here?”

After a second to recover from the surprise, Tobin nudges the door open wider and waves Christen in. It’s not the first time Christen’s been over since that first night, but it is the first time no one else is there. She takes a second to calm her racing heart and remind herself to act normal. It’s obvious Christen’s sticking around, and she wants that to continue because Christen’s always been a good person and friend, and she doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable by being weird.

“She went surfing and then to lunch with Alex and Serv, and they usually take awhile. Come on in. I was just going to turn on something on Netflix.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to bother you. I just— Kelley said to come over whenever, and I told her what time I’d be here so I don’t know why she would—”

“Chris,” Tobin laughs a little at the head of steam Christen is building up about it, “It’s cool. They should be back soon-ish, and Kelley knows I don’t like hanging out at home by myself so that’s probably why she said to just come over.”

“Oh,” Christen deflates a little but is still wringing her hands, “If you’re sure—”

Tobin hands her the remote and then sprawls onto half the couch. “Your pick,” she offers, like it’s entirely settled.

Christen eases onto the couch carefully, sitting perfectly upright as she scrolls through Netflix. Tobin doesn’t at all mind the opportunity to watch Christen instead of paying attention to the programs she pauses to consider. Eventually she doesn’t pick anything at all but sets the remote down on the coffee table and half-turns to Tobin.

“Why aren’t you with them? If you don’t like being home alone?”

“Oh,” Tobin quirks a self-conscious smile, “I actually had work to do. I just got back from the office a little while ago.”

Christen’s eyebrows rise in surprise before she laughs. “We’re really grown ups now, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Tobin Heath picks work over surfing. And on a _weekend_.”

Tobin doesn’t need _that_ reminder. She sits up a little to roll her eyes at Christen’s teasing. “Okay, it’s more like soccer over surfing. Don’t get too crazy there.”

“If you say so,” Christen sort of concedes since they both know _playing_ soccer is different from the administrative and behind-the-scenes work of coaching. “It’s kind of nice that some things about you guys haven’t changed. You and soccer, Kelley and surfing, Alex and Servando. As crazy as those two are.”

“What’s so crazy about them?” Tobin asks a little defensively. She’s heard a lot of criticism from friends and acquaintances and strangers who don’t get how they’ve stayed together through so many life changes and are cynical about their future. Call her the crazy one, but Tobin isn’t a fan of people trying to speak divorce into existence for her friends.

Christen isn’t fazed by her tone, though, and smiles kind of wistfully. “I feel like they had just started dating when I first met Alex. Who would have guessed they’d make it out of college? And I don’t know everything you guys have been up to during the last, shoot, _ten_ years, but I know I’ve gone through so many experiences. It’s just crazy they’re still together. Defying the odds. Good for them.”

Tobin realizes then that Christen isn’t being cynical in the way that she’s used to hearing. She’s not trying to take anything away from Alex and Servando, but it’s more like Christen doesn’t believe love like that is possible _for her_. The thought settles on Tobin’s chest like a weight she wants to carry for the other woman.

“Yeah, I guess that is crazy, but they work so well together. It’s hard to imagine anything else,” Tobin points out when Christen looks at her expectantly. Christen may have missed the last decade, but Tobin hardly remembers one without the other and honestly can’t picture it anymore. 

“You don’t believe in that? Love defying the odds?”

It’s a deep question, not one she means to ask so bluntly to someone she hardly knew years ago and has barely started to know again. 

But, for some reason, it makes Christen smile shyly. She stares down at her hands and sighs, “I’d like to. I just can’t imagine meeting someone when you’re _that_ young and somehow knowing they’re it for you and then putting in the work to keep it going. I mean, we met around the same time back then. Can you imagine it?”

Tobin nearly chokes, but Christen can’t be suggesting what her mind jumps to. She’s not talking specifically about the two of them being together but _generally_ about being clumsy, awkward almost-adults trying to sustain a serious, long-term relationships. _Obviously_.

“Guess not,” Tobin mumbles finally, reluctantly.

The thing is, she _did_ meet someone that young, and maybe Christen could have been it for her (in the mind of barely twenty-one-year-old Tobin), but they went absolutely nowhere (through every fault of her own). That’s just the stuff of daydreams, though. Tobin couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell Christen that she liked her back then, so, yeah, no matter how normal they are now, it _is_ crazy that Alex and Servando figured their shit out so young. Meanwhile, Tobin’s an actual adult these days and somehow still nursing a crush on the same girl. All she’s got to show for a decade of personal growth is a recently renewed acquaintance verging on friendship, and even just that much is already defying the odds.

Christen reaches for the remote then, sending her an apologetic look for having dragged Tobin down into a heavy topic. She asks about some show about cooking or famous chefs Tobin thinks she’s heard of before, and Tobin’s quick to agree. Just a minute later, Christen’s pressing pause and turning to her again.

“So no grand romances for you then?”

Tobin laughs drily and just a touch bitter. “I don’t think I’m the grand romance type.”

Christen’s answer is quiet and nearly lost to the sounds of Kelley crashing through the front door, Alex and Servando close behind. 

“I beg to differ.”

* * *

They’re inside with a recorded Arsenal match from the early morning playing on the TV. Kelley and Alex are in the kitchen debating which is the bougiest of Alex’s recent fad-yoga excursions: the one at the winery or the one with the goats. None of that’s stopping Tobin from a solitary game of inside keepy-uppy.

Christen’s captivated by how natural the fancy juggling still is for Tobin. She could barely do half those tricks in her prime and would probably struggle with the simpler moves now. But Tobin... It’s like she never missed a day, and probably hasn’t with her coaching job.

Christen tries not to think about how for months after her involuntary retirement, she kept tripping over her own damn feet, expecting a ball to be there. 

It was like she had to learn how to walk again. 

So she did.

Grassroot Soccer gave her the opportunity to walk a different avenue of the game. It‘s worthwhile, fulfilling work she’s doing, growing the sport and providing support, education, and opportunities to adolescents sorely in need of both. Still, the idea of being out on the pitch, instead of the one building it, remains the occasional, fleeting thought.

The question slips out of her, unbidden. “Do you miss it?”

Tobin stops suddenly, the ball bouncing off her foot wrong and rolling off somewhere. She goes perfectly still, and Christen doesn’t think she’s ever seen Tobin do that before. 

She knows it’s a ridiculous question. They—way more than Kelley and Alex—are surrounded by soccer, day in and day out. How can they miss something that’s right at their fingertips, at their feet?

Her voice is lower than usual, raspier than usual, when Tobin nods her agreement and answers the question she was _really_ asking.

“We were robbed.”

“Oh. I wasn’t— I didn’t mean _we_.”

Because she didn’t. Christen wasn’t trying to put herself in the same category as them. Tobin, Kelley, and Alex all had caps and a World Cup run under their belts, Tobin an actual, freaking Olympic gold medal, when USSF kicked them to the curb like it was nothing, just because the WPS folded and they went without clubs for a year. Christen was never even—

“Chris,” Tobin calls her name, looking the least like the Tobin from college Christen knew and the most like Tobin the coach she now is. “You were _so_ good. It was only a matter of time. Or, Kelley and I would have rioted.”

It’s a nice thing to say, but Christen knows anyone with a national team spot would never do a thing to compromise it. She manages a commiserating smile as Tobin repeats, even quieter this time, “_We_ were robbed.”

She’s always thought so, but Tobin’s simple acknowledgment feels like a release. They share a small, sad smile before Kelley and Alex bustle in, asking about dinner preferences. Christen’s quick to request sushi, something she’s lacked affordable and decent access to for some time.

Kelley frowns since their usual go-to just closed, a victim of the relentless restaurant turnover in the area. Then she brightens. “Tobin’s got the inside scoop on all the hip places. She’s always getting suggestions from her players.”

“Pretty sure none of them use the words “inside scoop” or “hip”,” Tobin retorts before reaching for her phone, “I’ll just ask Linds.”

Alex laughs. “Somehow I don’t think Tobin and Christen have the same opinions on restaurant qualities. Or just, like, _quality_.” 

Silently, Christen agrees (although good food is good food and one of her exceptions). Even after only a few times hanging out, it’s obvious she and Alex share that upper middle class, slightly high maintenance sensibility that’s out of step with their friends who are only too happy to bum it on a beach somewhere. She won’t let those minor differences in opinion derail the rekindled friendships though. They all get along too well otherwise.

“Speaking of things beyond these two, come to yoga with me?” Alex asks, without a waver of hesitation to her voice.

“Definitely. I’ve been looking for a new studio,” Christen nods with an easy smile. She sees Kelley’s exaggeratedly fallen expression and grins wider. “Don’t worry. I’ll still beach bum with you guys.”

“We’re not unwashed heathens. We do fancy, bougie shit, too,” Kelley grumbles. 

Kelley’s half-hearted defense isn’t helped any when Tobin reads off Lindsey’s suggestions and the one they agree on ends up being a sushi burrito truck near one of their regular beach parking lots.

“Fancy food trucks are an oxymoron, Kelley,” Alex declares with her nose in the air and an uppity tone that sends them into laughter.

They go anyway, and the sushi is almost as great as the company.

* * *

Kelley’s always telling her to come over, which wouldn’t be noteworthy except Kelley never seems to be home when she tells Christen to come over.

She’s always “on her way” or just thought of a hilarious prank for the office and now needs to buy out Party City’s entire inventory of super bouncy balls and why did Toys “R” Us have to go bankrupt? But, anyway, she’ll be right back. 

Either way, it usually means that Kelley is not at home, but Tobin, who hates being home alone, _is_. Christen thinks she must be super-glued to the couch or something—except Christen’s glimpsed her abs during these long, exaggerated stretches Tobin does, leaning backwards over the couch, so she knows she isn’t actually—because she’s always there, sprawled out for something she calls a “hard chill.” Despite how laid-back Tobin is, Christen’s careful not to interrupt her routine, sitting there silently and waiting for Kelley or Alex and Servando or all three to appear. Tobin usually lets something on Netflix play in the background, and Christen recognizes a few episodes of the show on chefs she turned on that one time. 

It’s all strange and awkward and tense (to _her_ because Tobin seems as relaxed as always) until one day Tobin groans, “How do you watch this stuff? It makes me _so_ hungry.”

“Oh,” Christen jolts, “Are you watching this because _I’m_ here? You really don’t have to. I don’t care what’s on.”

“Then let’s go eat,” Tobin suggests out of the blue. 

Christen’s not opposed since it sounds infinitely better than waiting in her friend’s apartment but she hasn’t yet figured out how to just _be_ around Tobin. She’s conscious of how they aren’t the same kids they were, she’s conscious of not staring too long, she’s conscious of the way the air feels heavy between them. She’s just really self-conscious, all of the time, around Tobin, even as she privately looks forward to any accidental time together.

“Come on, I’ll text Kelley to meet us.” Tobin’s already at the front door, slides on her feet and keys in her hand. “I can drive if you want. Kelley says you hate it, after all the public transportation in London.”

She’s surprised again. Not that Kelley mentioned it because Kelley loves talking, but that Tobin paid attention and retained it. “Oh, sure. Thanks.” Then it’s back to silence in Tobin’s car because Christen still doesn’t know how to talk to her without wanting to face palm.

“In-N-Out or Shake Shack? Or do you not want burgers? Sorry, that episode just made me crave them. Oh, man, please tell me you’re not vegan. Alex was for, like, a year, and my taste buds are still traumatized.”

Christen has to smile at the rapid fire questions and topic changes before dishing it right back. “Tobin, we had sushi last week. Not vegan, not even vegetarian or pescetarian. And are we or are we not in the state of California? You remember I grew up here, right? Shake Shack may as well be _treason_. How _dare_ you suggest it.”

Tobin laughs, easy and free, at her exaggeration. Except, you know, not really because Christen takes her California roots pretty seriously. And it breaks the ice between just the two of them after weeks of having Kelley and/or Alex as a buffer.

Tobin asks more questions about her preferences, posing worse and worse comparisons that make Christen’s nose wrinkle. Christen asks just as many silly ones, relying on her visits to extended family for East Coast specifics, but also deeper ones, curious about what’s changed in Tobin’s life since a decade ago. Tobin still has the most unexpected sense of humor but she’s also thoughtful and introspective, exceedingly careful of her place in and impact on the world, and Christen tries to draw as much out of her as she can before their milkshakes run out. 

They forget they didn’t text Kelley and, like some kind of cosmic retribution, they get back to the apartment and an actual minefield of super bouncy balls.

If Christen thought her crush was rekindled just from being around Tobin, then it’s reaching whole new levels actually getting to know her. A couple more weeks of accidental evenings alone and she’s practically _pining_, which is not a feeling she anticipated having at thirty-freaking-years-old. So she realizes she should at least _try_ to bail out her heart before she’s in too deep.

* * *

Tobin doesn’t know why Kelley is suddenly allergic to their apartment.

She doesn’t know and she can’t even bring herself to ask why because Kelley’s inability to be home from work when she says she’ll be, particularly on days Tobin _doesn’t_ have after school practice, somehow translates into time alone with Christen. 

Time alone that’s usually a rarity at Kelbin O’Heath’s Refuge of the Rejects. Another dumb name for their apartment but also kind of just her and Kelley’s philosophy for their living space and friends. Not that Tobin thinks Christen is a reject in any sense of the word, but she’s happy Christen is spending time there, making it—_them_—a part of her new routine—_refuge_ even—in her old home. She’s even happier no one (read: Lindsey) has needed to crash on their couch the last couple weeks, interrupting their time together.

For the most part, they watch Netflix in silence, Tobin glued to the couch and her limbs almost on lock so Christen doesn’t see just how fidgety Tobin gets around her, until Kelley or Alex and Servando or all of the above show up and demand dinner.

(It’s awkward and tense like the time after the W-League Championship game when they somehow ended up stuck in a small hotel conference room locked from the outside. One of Kelley’s pranks gone wrong, they later found out. And since everyone had been off celebrating, no one noticed their absences for a few hours until dinner rolled around. They sat on the padded chairs not really talking, barely looking at each other, until Tobin had the bright idea to make a ball out of leftover printer paper. Then it was keepy-uppy and 1v1 using chairs as goal posts and almost as much fun as winning the championship.)

Kind of just like that night, one day, all the nervous energy erupts out of Tobin in the form of an early food run request. She tries not to read into how quickly Christen agrees because the tense silence grows between them again just as soon as they’re in her car. And since they haven’t even talked about where to go, Tobin lets a rush of words escape.

Christen is—against all odds—laughing with her, relaxed and smiley around _just_ Tobin for the first time. The air is suddenly lighter, and Tobin smiles out the windshield as she drives to the restaurant on autopilot. She asks Christen a slew of “this or that” questions, thinking up ridiculous combinations to see what makes her laugh and her nose scrunch in the most adorable way. Eventually, Christen interrupts her to ask her own questions, less out-there and more _real_. Before she knows it and without even knowing how, Christen’s pulling out the stuff Tobin doesn’t let anyone else see. 

How guilty she feels not being back east with her family when technically she could coach anywhere. How her nephews and niece fill her with joy but also a growing fear (of what this world will be like in their future) and uncertainty (if she’ll ever be ready to have her own family). How unsettling it is to be further and further away from the prime of her playing career. How she loves her players but gets this weird pang in her chest, right after the overwhelming pride subsides, whenever one of them gets a call up. (Disappointment, regret, frustration, anger; they both know all the things it could be and is.)

Just as easily, Christen reels them out of the dark, heavy stuff with silly, lighthearted inquiries. 

(Bagels or pizza? 

Disney Channel or Nickelodeon? 

Further, Legends of the Hidden Temple or Double Dare? 

Utz or Lay’s? 

Fine, Utz or Ruffles? 

Fine, Utz or that other one, uh, Cape Cod? 

Hah!)

They ping questions back and forth until they realize it’s late, and they forgot to tell Kelley they were getting food without her, and Christen has an early meeting the next day. When they get back to the apartment, apology fries and shake in hand for Kelley, it’s almost a disaster. Christen enters first and nearly wipes out, and Tobin springs forward to steady her but her own footing gives out beneath her, as Kelley yells a warning that’s seconds too late. They slide down to the floor in an ungraceful heap, the fries and shake somehow surviving the fall. Turns out, Kelley really was serious about all those bouncy balls and happened to drop an open bag, scattering them _everywhere_, just before they opened the door.

Suddenly, Christen’s shaking with laughter against Tobin, and Kelley’s expression transforms from apologetic and earnest to mischievous and eager in a heartbeat. 

“I know what that look means, Pressy,” Kelley gloats, “You’re totally helping me with this! Don’t worry. I won’t snitch on you to Alex.”

As they crawl around the floor, collecting bouncy balls and plotting to infuriate Alex, Tobin realizes she can’t remember ever seeing Christen like she has today.

Tobin’s always liked Christen, that much has been obvious to her, but that’s always held her back from getting to _know_ Christen. So this time, as they hang out more and more, she’s actually getting to know Christen. And the more Tobin gets to know Christen, the more she likes Christen and the more she wants to get to know Christen, and the more—

It’s a vicious cycle leading to nowhere, one she’s honestly too old to be caught in _again_, because they’re all just _friends_.

* * *

“Why don’t you come here?” Christen asks one day because she needs it.

She needs a break from this weird tension with Tobin that she’s almost positive is just in her head. For the most part, all they’re doing is being friendly with casual, small talk, but sometimes there’s nothing casual or small about talk of a lifetime of love or dreams turned to dust. And she can never get the ripped jeans and the loose t-shirts and the flat brim hats and the blinding smiles all the way out of her head.

“I mean, I guess,” Kelley’s slow to agree then suddenly excited, “Okay, yeah. Haven’t even seen your place yet. Be there soon.”

Christen laughs to herself at the sudden click ending the call and texts her the address before Kelley can ask. It’s only fifteen minutes later that she hears Kelley’s customary ring slash knock pattern. Twice, then incessantly if you don’t answer fast enough.

“Christen,” Kelley sounds horrified, “Are you secretly a CIA agent or something? Is this one of those safe houses that gets burned after you use it? Do you have a bug out bag?”

Christen makes a face. She knows what Kelley’s talking about but she’s been a little too busy resettling back into her life here to make an effort with decorating. It’s entirely unlike her, and the contrast is only made worse by how lived in and cozy Kelbin O’Heath’s is.

And she can’t believe she’s actually calling their apartment that dumb portmanteau they use for deliveries and junk mail. Only in her head though, never out loud.

Kelley grabs her hand and then her keys off the kitchen counter. “Come on. We’re going to the nearest furniture store and then we’re setting a date for your housewarming party so you actually _do_ something about this sterile nightmare you call a living space.”

* * *

The townhouse is nice. 

(A little nicer than expected for an assistant director at a nonprofit, but they of the youth camps and club teams have always come from privileged backgrounds. Thanks to athletic scholarships and college savings accounts, what should be student loan payments probably goes straight to Christen’s mortgage, and Tobin bets her parents helped with the down payment, too. At least that’s what her own folks have been offering to do.) 

Everything’s very Christen somehow. Well-organized and thoughtful and modern but in a way that makes Tobin long to mess something up just a little. Like how she wants to undo Christen’s neat ponytail or smudge her lipstick. Except, you know, not really because they’re _friends_.

They really, _really_ are this time around. And Tobin has loved getting to be Christen’s friend. She’s cherished learning about her, the simple quirks and the deep ruminations and everything in between. Christen’s the same smart, beautiful, kind, driven, and precise girl she crushed on from afar, but up close she’s multifaceted and intriguing, a complicated puzzle Tobin wants to spend forever trying to solve. So it’s a tricky dynamic whenever they spend time alone together with Tobin trying to balance keeping things friendly and indulging her crush.

But no one else sees the dilemma she’s in, and sometimes Tobin needs a little space and time to reframe her mind to stay in that friendly lane. 

(Especially when Christen is like _this_, happy and relaxed and surrounded by people who love her. It swells her heart to see, makes her rib cage feel too small to contain the emotions that want to spill out.)

So she wanders away from the mass of people in the living room and down a hallway lined with photos. She studies each of them, unsurprisingly not recognizing anyone but Christen in most until she gets to one in particular. Then Christen’s suddenly there with her, probably wondering why Tobin’s decided to take an unauthorized, self-guided tour.

“I remember this,” Tobin blurts out, glancing over with an excited grin.

It’s a team photo from right after they won the 2009 W-League Championship game, when they’re all still covered in sweat and grass stains and smiles. Not the best picture quality, probably from someone’s parent’s early digital camera, but good enough to bring back that rush of emotion.

“Found it cleaning out my room at my parents’ house.” Christen shrugs, like it wasn’t the last major accomplishment of their abbreviated playing careers. “Thought it was fitting to bring it out. You know, having Kell back, and you around lately, and even Alex even though she wasn’t there, I mean,” she’s uncharacteristically fumbling over her words before finally settling on, “It’s a _good_ memory.”

Tobin knows exactly what she means. It’s lost the bitter. There’s only sweet now.

“We look like babies,” Tobin smiles fondly, her fingertip brushing over young Christen in the photo. “We _were_ babies,” she corrects herself with a laugh.

Have they really known each other for this long? Isn’t it a trip to somehow be brought back together after so much time apart? And her Christen-specific butterflies? How are they still alive and thriving? Most importantly, what is she going to do about it this time? When it’s not just a summer stepping stone to something bigger and better but all the time they could _choose_ to have together, the potential of the rest of their lives stretched out before them?

Tobin thinks she’s shaking, back to being an inexperienced teenager left alone with the girl she likes, all nerves and flop sweat. 

“Has Kell seen this? She’ll freak.” 

She bolts down the hallway in search of their friend and misses how Christen drops her forehead against the wall, sighing to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley removed the ceiling tile above the door, placed the box of bouncy balls on a ramp on the edge, ran a string from the back of the box to a pulley parallel with the door then to the door handle, and let gravity do the rest when Alex pushed the door open.
> 
> Next chapter is a very short interlude.


	4. Interlude

“Have they always been this obvious?” Lindsey asks, jaw slack from watching Tobin and Christen drift together, time and time again, when they’re supposed to be playing on clear opposite sides of the field.

Kelley glances over her shoulder at the old but new again sight and shrugs. “Pretty much. Tobin’s idea of flirting was playing keep away during passing drills.”

“And Christen would actually smile about it,” Alex pipes up, “That girl didn’t smile about _anything_ on the pitch. Well, anything other than scoring goals.”

“Pot,” Kelley rolls her eyes at the equally intense Alex, “_kettle_. And how would you know? You never actually played with both of them at the same time.”

“You’re _all_ still psychos out there. Everyone knows that,” Lindsey interjects to cut off the brewing debate. “What are we doing about this?”

“Same thing I’ve always done, Linds. Absolutely nothing,” Kelley shrugs again like she’s never considered locking them in a room together. Knowing those two, they’d probably dehydrate and starve before admitting their feelings. “Let the idiots figure it out themselves.”

Lindsey is appalled. 

“But we’ll be dead by then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, real short. Back tomorrow-ish.


	5. Chapter Three

“Don’t forget there’s a fundraising dinner after the opening. Kelley and Alex already talked their way into being the city representatives, but you’re coming, too, right?”

Unexpectedly, Tobin called her to confirm the delivery of the free swag her team’s providing for the opening ceremony of Grassroot Soccer’s first pitch, of hopefully many, in the state. (Unexpected only because Christen’s surprised Tobin bothered to save her office number and didn’t just call her cell.) The topic’s a little below both their pay grades, but Christen doesn’t mind the break and she certainly doesn’t mind hearing Tobin’s voice.

“Fo sho. Gotta rep the crew.” She rolls her eyes at the hardcore skater persona Tobin’s exaggerating specifically to annoy her. “You get them on the pitch, and I’ll teach them how to actually play.”

Scoffing, Christen retorts, “You’re aware I beat you 1v1 so many times last week?” She conveniently doesn’t mention the pickup game the week before when Tobin showed her up with nutmeg after nutmeg after nutmeg.

“Just because you got the jets, doesn’t mean you have the skills, Pressy.” Christen frowns at that nickname. It’s natural coming from Kelley and Alex, even Lindsey now, but _weird_ from Tobin. “Are we breaking in this pitch, too? Because I’d love to embarrass you in front of the cameras. LA Times are coming, right?”

“Yes but _Tobin!_” 

She can’t help that her voice is a little high and loud. That weekend’s events will be the culmination of her work since moving home. Feasibility studies are only so reliable so the opening ceremony and fundraiser are the initial test of the desire for and feasibility of a U.S. West Coast operation. If this works, her boss will move onto scouting and starting other West Coast locations, promoting her to managing director of the LA office. If it _doesn’t_ work, she could be recalled to London or anywhere else they need a warm body.

“This is really important—”

“I know! Chris, I’m joking. I wouldn’t do anything to”—Tobin clears her throat to start over, and Christen’s left wondering where she was going with that—“I won’t do anything stupid or embarrassing, I promise. I won’t let Kelley either.”

She breathes a little sigh of relief. Alex can be trusted to be professional at work events, but Kelley’s just a little too enthusiastic at times—at _all_ of the times. To know that both Tobin and Alex will be resistant to Kelley’s special brand of fun provides a little reassurance that her behavior might be reined into something closer to socially acceptable.

“Thank you,” she murmurs softly, sinking into her desk chair.

Tobin takes a second to respond, and when she does, Christen’s heart skips.

“Anything for you.”

* * *

“Stop bouncing, or I’ll _make_ you stop.”

Tobin knows Alex well enough to take the threat seriously and eases back onto her heels. 

Unlike the other times they meet on a pitch, she’s the only one in workout clothes, technically official team gear, and sneakers today. Kelley and Alex are wearing nicer outfits that pass for a casual office day and wedges to account for their grassy location. Christen’s up on the platform in a full suit, perfect makeup, and glossy hair, actually looking like the put-together adult the rest of them pretend to be. Tobin can hardly keep her eyes off her.

“Seriously, you’re as hyperactive as, well, _me_,” Kelley frowns when Tobin starts shaking her hands out instead, “What’s up with you?”

“Stop it!” Alex hisses, slapping at Tobin’s hands before smiling brightly at a curious passerby and chirping, “Hi!”

After a second to recover from Alex’s abrupt about-face, Tobin whispers a worried, “What if no one comes?”

“I have confirmations from the mayor, the district councilwoman, and the director of Parks and Recreation,” Alex replies through gritted teeth as she maintains a stiff smile for people she probably knows from work.

“Cool, Al,” Tobin rolls her eyes, “but I’m talking about the people who actually give a shit.”

If looks could kill, Alex would be wanted for her murder. But Tobin knows that _Alex_ knows what _Tobin’s_ talking about. If the project is going to have any lasting success, Christen needs more buy-in from the community than the government. Well, ideally, she needs both, but the local politicians are pretty much a guarantee at these kind of feel-good events. It’ll be the neighborhoods that keep the pitch—and Christen’s job—alive.

All of a sudden, it’s up to Kelley to be the reasonable one, and she looks annoyed by the role. “Didn’t you threaten all your players with laps if they didn’t show up?”

Tobin’s not exactly proud but, “Yeah. That’s just, like, forty teenagers though.”

“Oh my god. _Tobin_. Is this your event or Christen’s?” Alex asks rhetorically, following it up with a head shake that means she knows something they don’t. “Relax. We have it under control.”

Tobin doesn’t relax. She cycles through checking her phone for an overdue text, staring at Christen before forcing herself to stop staring at Christen, and getting yelled at by Alex and Kelley because she’s still all twitchy. 

Ten minutes before the official start time, and Tobin finally starts to breathe. Most of her players have shown up, and she knows the missing ones live too far away to make the trek. The government officials are surprisingly early, something she’s sure her friends had a hand in, and rubbing elbows with the Grassroot Soccer people, Christen included. 

Then there’s suddenly an actual herd of preteens being lead across the parking lot by a middle-aged woman.

“Ms. Hernandez!” Alex greets her enthusiastically, her smile actually genuine.

She shakes hands with the Mary Poppins-esque figure and makes introductions, and Tobin listens to enough of their conversation to learn that Ms. Hernandez is the principal of the nearby middle school and Alex and Christen went over earlier in the week to extend a personal invitation from the mayor’s office and Grassroot Soccer, respectively.

When Christen and Alex exchange excited (and dorky) thumbs up from a distance, Tobin’s almost smiling. There’s just one more thing that needs to happen, and it’s only a few minutes to the scheduled start. If there was ever a time for her “little sister” to get her shit together and be sort of punctual, _for once_—

A passenger van pulls into the nearly full parking lot. Lindsey practically falls out of the driver’s seat, and a number of her national team teammates spill from the other doors. Christen looks shell-shocked by their appearance, barely able to raise a hand in response to Lindsey’s enthusiastic waving with both arms. Christen’s boss immediately recognizes the new arrivals and pulls her to the side of the small stage with an excited smile.

Tobin watches, wide grin stretching across her face, as Christen’s hands flutter around. She’s obviously trying to stumble her way through a quick explanation and eventually stops, smiles, and points to Tobin in the audience. It takes all of her restraint to give a casual nod and shrug.

Her players are freaking out about the royalty among them, and the younger kids are catching onto their excitement, even if most don’t get exactly what’s happening. Tobin gives them a look to hold it together, just for a bit, and thankfully the ceremony starts right on time. The speeches are kept short and sweet. Christen doesn’t speak, but her boss does and thanks her for her contributions. The mayor says a few words and so does the councilwoman, yet everyone understands there’s now a better photo op waiting to happen, one involving kids and America’s team. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the seemingly pointless ribbon-cutting that takes a few minutes to set up.

Tobin’s watching Christen hold on to a comically large pair of scissors when she’s jerked into a side hug, an arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders. It’s Lindsey, a smug grin on her face as she presses a smacking kiss to the side of Tobin’s head. “You did good, kid. Talk about a grand gesture.”

“I’m not— _You’re_ the kid,” Tobin argues automatically before even processing the rest of the words. “And _what_ grand gesture?”

“To-_bin_,” Lindsey draws out her name on a sigh, “Seriously. _Before_ I die. Please.”

Then she’s being pulled away for a group photo with her teammates.

* * *

Christen’s wrapping up with the equipment rental people when the last stragglers leave and her friends are the only ones left, aside from some kids putting the new pitch to good use. 

They had been literal lifesavers the last few weeks, putting up with her neurotic fits and dragging her out to play pickup when it got to be too much. And they showed up again today, not only as emotional support but also jumping in wherever was needed. She never thought she’d see a barefoot Alex Morgan playing gopher and running down balls for a bunch of pimply preteens. On the other hand, Kelley assigning herself to be the national team’s bodyguard for their unplanned appearance was somehow just _natural_.

Then there’s Tobin, who, without any prompting or giving away any hints, arranged the surprise visit with Lindsey. And then helped to effortlessly transition the event from stuffy formalities to organized chaos—_fun_, organized chaos—with her players, the kids, and the national team for the short time they could stick around. (Christen really hopes the photographer caught the crowd’s reaction and the mayor’s face when Rose Lavelle walked a sixth-grader through nutmegging him.) And then stayed for hours, along with Kelley and Alex, to play around with the kids and clean up.

Honestly, she could cry right now.

(And if she weren’t so overwhelmed by all of it, she would be picking apart Tobin’s every action, trying to figure out if she was being just as supportive and helpful as their other friends or _more_.)

Christen’s about to shake the equipment guy’s hand but she sees a blur out of the corner of her eye and has only a second to brace herself. Her hand’s still reaching out when Tobin hits her with a full-body hug at the speed of a light jog so she’s actually knocked back a step. A laugh escapes as Tobin disengages, muttering, “Sorry! Sorry, I thought you were done.”

The equipment guy smiles and extends his hand all the way out for a quick shake before heading to his truck and letting them have their moment. Then Tobin’s hugging her again, and Christen has the biggest smile on her face as she squeezes back. Kelley and Alex wander over to join them so she lets go of Tobin to wrap them in equally tight hugs. She’ll have to give another one to Lindsey, too, the next time she sees her.

“_Girls_,” Christen mutters, choked and watery.

Suddenly, Kelley’s right in front of her, framing her face in her hands and wiping away tears Christen didn’t even realize were escaping. “Oh, no, no, no. Pressy, don’t cry. It went so well!”

“That’s _why_ I’m crying, Kell!” But she’s also laughing now, swatting away Kelley’s hands to wipe her own face. “Thanks for everything. You’re the best old-new friends a girl could ask for.”

She walks arm-in-arm to the parking lot with Alex and Kelley, smiling at Tobin a few steps ahead of them, juggling a ball as always.

* * *

It’s a race to get ready in time for the black-tie dinner.

Well, it’s a race for her friends. Tobin’s been crashed on Christen’s couch, a newer model of the one at Kelbin O’Heath’s, for twenty minutes now. She was the first in the guest room shower, since she’s the fastest, and barely took enough time to blowdry her hair and swipe on some light makeup before dressing in a simple, black, floor-length gown borrowed from Christen’s closet. It’ll be another half-hour at _minimum_ before the others are ready to go.

“You’re unfair, you know that?”

“Hmm?” Tobin mumbles, not even opening her eyes. Running around after kids all afternoon was tiring, but it’s also her job so she thinks it’s more the stress and nerves she felt on Christen’s behalf catching up to her.

“You just look that good with barely any effort. It’s so unfair,” Christen repeats. Her voice drifts away at the end, and Tobin figures she’s gone back to her room or wherever to finish getting ready.

“So much for being decisive.”

“I _am_ decisive, Kell, but it’s still a process. Like I decided to wear my hair straight immediately, but it takes forty-five minutes to get there. That has nothing to do with overthinking it.”

The good-natured arguing gets louder as they descend the stairs and rouses Tobin from her light doze. She almost wipes a hand over her face before remembering the makeup situation and stopping just in time. At least she managed to stay kind of upright on the couch and doesn’t have to worry about fixing her hair or dress too much.

“Tobs, Serv is almost here so wake up!” Alex calls as they turn the corner.

Tobin leverages herself off the couch, all the while rolling her eyes at her presumptuous, but accurate, friend. “I’m up, I’m—”

Tongue-tied and dazed and not entirely sure if she’s still asleep and dreaming because Christen looks—

Like Christen _always_ looks good. She dazzles Tobin on a regular basis, and becoming friends—really good friends—has done nothing to build up Tobin’s defenses against being dazzled by Christen because one should not be constantly dazzled by someone who is _just_ a really good friend. Still, Tobin can’t remember the last time someone—_Christen_—stole her breath.

“I know. We look _so_ good,” Kelley preens, smug expression on her face as she taps Tobin’s chin, reminding her to shut her mouth. Alex also gives her a condescending pat on the head and a knowing smile before following Kelley to the front door and leaving her alone with Christen.

“You’re beautiful.”

Christen smiles sweetly at the understatement and carefully places a hand on Tobin’s shoulder for balance while adjusting her shoe. “Thank you, Tobin. You look really good, too. Somehow, even though you were _just_ asleep on the couch.”

“That’s because I’m so good-looking it’s—what word did you use earlier? oh, right—_unfair_,” Tobin smirks as Christen blushes.

The hand on her shoulder turns into a light shove before Christen rolls her eyes. “You were half-asleep. You don’t know what you heard.”

“What? You only give me unqualified compliments when I can’t really hear them?”

“If you’re going to be this cocky about it...”

“Hey! Let’s _go!_” Alex interrupts, rolling her eyes so hard Tobin knows it’s not the first time she’s tried to get their attention.

* * *

Kelley’s dancing is barely restrained by her seatbelt. After a few attempts to claim space, Christen gives up and leans against Tobin, who puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer so Kelley has nearly half the backseat to shimmy and shake. 

It’s all for Kelley’s benefit, see?

Nothing to do with the way Tobin’s fingertips running down her arm make Christen shiver.

After they leave the car with the valet, Alex and Servando walk hand-in-hand into the hotel ballroom, looking every bit the college-sweethearts, odds-defying couple they are. Kelley immediately latches onto a gorgeous attendee, flirting up a storm, and Christen can only pray her friend’s behavior won’t come back to haunt her or both of them. (Deep down, she knows Kelley’s not that careless.)

“Hey, come on,” Tobin’s a few feet ahead, looking confused about why Christen’s stopped in the lobby, “Let’s do this thing.”

Christen takes the hand Tobin’s offering and tries not to think about what it looks like, them walking in together, hand-in-hand just like their friends who are an _actual_ couple, and not letting go until they reach the front of the line at the bar. They still don’t separate after they get their drinks, and Christen practically walks into a group of donors, who are buzzing from the media coverage of the national team visit. Christen’s quick to heap praise on Tobin for arranging the surprise, then Tobin does her best to turn the attention back to Christen.

All night, they’re near inseparable. It helps that Tobin’s a leftie to her rightie so whenever a drink’s occupying one hand, they instinctively stand with the other hand available for arm grazing and elbow touching and occasional outright hand holding. Kelley, Alex, and Servando are seated with them and a few others for dinner, but they break apart again after for more networking.

The scheduled portion of the evening ends with an address from the executive director, fresh off a flight from London. The publicity’s already given them a major boost on the fundraising front, and he thanks everyone for their generosity. He speaks about the warm welcome they’ve had from the city of Los Angeles and how he looks forward to growing their presence and becoming an integral part of the community. 

When he says the last bit, he makes direct eye contact with her and looks over to where her boss is standing a few times. Christen can read between the lines. Everything’s going well enough that she’s not moving any time soon.

Tobin wraps an arm around her waist and turns fully into her side. “Chris,” she says against her ear, “I’m so proud of you.” Then Tobin presses a long kiss under her ear, on the curve of her jawbone, and her entire body goes hot. Christen can feel the smudge left from Tobin’s tinted chapstick but she doesn't move to wipe it away, too busy absorbing the moment.

It’s just the champagne, she tells herself, and Tobin’s always been affectionate. 

The way she hangs onto Alex and Kelley as poor Servando corrals their tipsy selves into the car, is proof of that. 

They’ve planned for Kelley and Tobin to stay the night in her guest room, so Servando has only one stop to make before taking himself and Alex home. Christen makes sure they have everything they need and then drags herself to bed, somehow still thrumming with excitement but also just exhausted. She barely convinces herself to clean up before falling into bed and a deep sleep.

A deep sleep that lasts until the first light of morning, when her bedroom door creaks open and someone’s slipping into her room. Christen rubs the sleep out of her eyes and ignores both the disappointment and relief that it’s not Tobin but just Kelley crawling into her bed.

“Pressy, I’m hungry,” Kelley whines, burrowing herself under Christen’s warm covers.

Christen rolls her eyes but she’s hungry, too, and feeling lazy and a little hungover even though she stayed the most sober of the girls. “We’ll go out,” she decides, “once Tobin’s up.”

“That’ll take forever,” Kelley scoffs, eyes sliding closed tiredly. Then they slowly blink back open, and Christen recognizes the mischievous light in them. “Go wake her up. Kiss her like Sleeping Beauty,” Kelley suggests, eyebrows waggling.

Her face flushes so quickly there’s absolutely no covering it. “_You_ go kiss Tobin awake,” she retorts childishly for lack of anything else.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like that. I don’t think you’d like anyone but you kissing Tobin.”

Christen frowns instinctively at the thought, and Kelley crows triumphantly. God, it’s too early in the morning for this, and even if she knows Kelley’s just trying to get a rise out of her, she’s too sluggish to effectively filter her reactions.

“That’s not a good idea, Kell. We’re friends, and I— I was so worried about moving home. It’s hard coming back to where you grew up and trying to establish yourself as an adult. But you guys have been so invaluable, so important to making this place feel like home again. I’m not going to do anything to mess it up.”

Christen thinks it’s good reasoning, especially for this early, and certainly not deserving of Kelley’s eye roll and annoyed huffing.

“Turtle, you were always bad at headers.”

“_I know_,” she glares at Kelley for the old nickname, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“So you should stop trying to use your head. Follow your heart.”

“Did you just say that to me?” Christen’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. She knows Kelley is not actually the overgrown child she can act like, but cliched catchphrases normally found on the walls of kitchens with farmhouse sinks are also not like her. “Did you just, seriously and unironically, tell me to follow my heart?”

Kelley scowls, pushing herself up to lean against the headboard. “The last fucking time I try to be genuine and heartfelt around you.” Her offense and threat isn’t really real, Christen _thinks_.

“Seriously and unironically,” Kelley confirms with a nod. “You don’t think I knew exactly what was going to happen when I invited you to come over that first night? You kissing Tobin isn’t going to mess anything up but you _not_ kissing Tobin by now is completely screwing up my amazing plan.”

“Then why isn’t _Tobin_ getting this pep talk?” she asks suspiciously. Probably because _she’s_ the one with the dumb crush she can’t seem to grow out of, but at least Kelley thinks it’s a recent development that started when she moved back. “Maybe because something being a part of your _amazing plan _doesn’t make it a reflection of reality. Just because you’re right about my liking her doesn’t mean—”

“Are you actually doubting that Tobin likes you, too?” Kelley cuts her off before she whips the pillow out from under Christen’s head to use to muffle her frustrated yell. “You know, I thought we were at least past that, stuck at the “scared to ruin a friendship” phase, but you’re telling me we’re all the way back at square _one?_”

Christen is more than a little disgruntled to have her head bouncing off her mattress. It’s not enough that Kelley is forcing her to have a very early, mildly hungover discussion about the feelings she’s been trying to tap down for too long? She has to steal her damn pillow, too? Talk about adding insult to injury.

Because of course she has doubts. Tobin’s this crazy talented enigma of a person, who’s outwardly passionate about three things: soccer, her family, and her friends. There’re so many more layers to Tobin, though, and she’s been working on discovering those as they become friends. Hell, Christen’s just gotten comfortable calling herself Tobin’s friend. How could she entertain the idea of Tobin liking her as more than that? Sometimes, she still feels like that random girl she played soccer with forever ago and who tags along because she’s Kelley’s friend. It’s not a thought she likes dwelling on.

“Kelley, if you shut up about this right now, I will feed you in the next hour,” Christen threatens and promises in the same breath. 

“Oh alright,” she pouts, for once respecting the finality in Christen’s voice, “But you really do have to wake up Tobin. She’ll never wake up on her own, definitely not in the next hour.”

Christen agrees, mostly because her pillow’s still being held hostage and to get away from Kelley’s needling. “I’m _not_ kissing her. Especially when she’s asleep. I’m pretty sure that’s harassment,” she adds when Kelley makes obnoxious lip-smacking sounds.

“Fine,” Kelley says to her back, “I’ll sic Alex on her, but one of you is going to have to make the first move.”

Christen just shuts her bedroom door on her friend.

After tiptoeing across the hall, she carefully eases open the door to the guest bedroom, but it wouldn’t matter if she made all the noise in the world because Tobin is curled up on one side of the bed and _conked_ out. Conveniently, Tobin’s facing the edge of the mattress so Christen has the opportunity to just lookand marvel at this beautiful, intricate woman who’s performed what feels like multiple miracles for her in the past twenty-four hours. God, she really does like her _so much_, even more than when they were young and dumb kids.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she kneels down and runs her fingers over the pillow creases imprinted on Tobin’s cheek and smiles, “Time to wake up.”

“No,” Tobin grumps after more than a few seconds of slow cheek stroking that Christen _cannot_ make her fingers stop.

“_Yes_,” she tries again, “A squirrel broke into the house and is demanding breakfast.”

Tobin nestles further into the pillow, her pout deepening. “Don’t care. You only say nice things to me when I’m asleep. So I’m gonna stay asleep”

“But I’ll kiss you only if you’re awake.”

She doesn’t know where the bravery comes from. Maybe because she’s been fighting the urge since she was all of twenty years old. Maybe because of everything Tobin did for the opening ceremony. Maybe because Tobin spent the fundraiser acting as her buffer and security blanket without Christen even having to ask. Maybe because Kelley got into her head just now. Maybe because Tobin is mostly asleep, and it’s a way of testing the waters without actually putting herself out there.

Tobin’s eyes spring open, wide and startled. They lock onto Christen before Tobin shakes her head and closes her eyes again. “No one’s this pretty this early, not even Chris. Dreaming. Just dreaming.”

“You dream about kissing me?” she repeats, rocking back onto her heels. Tobin nods into her pillow, and Christen fights another smile and tries to keep her breathing under control. She feels a little like hyperventilating but instead she teasingly scoffs, “What a dork.”

“Mmhmm,” Tobin mutters in agreement, “_Your_ dork.”

“Tobs!” Kelley does her best impression of a flying squirrel and launches herself into the air after a running start from the doorway, landing on Tobin with her arms and legs spread wide. Christen scrambles out of the way before she’s smacked with an errant limb as a suddenly wide-awake Tobin easily flips Kelley off her and onto the other side of the bed. Probably not the first time that’s happened, she guesses. 

“Wake up! Pressy’s buying us breakfast burritos!”

“I never said I was buying,” Christen argues, startled when Tobin flings herself towards her voice but gets twisted up in the covers. 

It’s almost comical the way Tobin ends up more and more tangled, the harder she tries to turn. Finally, she just gathers as much of the comforter as she can and rolls over to stare wide-eyed and disbelieving at Christen sitting on the carpet, knees hugged to her chest and an amused smile on her lips.

“Look, Pressy,” Kelley smirks and gestures extravagantly, “Breakfast is served: a Tobito burrito.”

When Tobin, all sleep-addled and adorable, keeps gaping at her, Christen tries to shrug nonchalantly, like she didn’t just discover a precious secret. “I _told_ you a squirrel broke in.”

* * *

Tobin calls Alex and Servando to join them because she’s positive she’ll need every distraction she can find to survive this breakfast. Unlucky for her, Servando begs off, needing a break from all four of them together. Apparently, they’re _a lot_, even, or maybe especially, when he’s the designated driver. 

(They’d be offended if it weren’t so true.)

Kelley gets a breakfast burrito smothered in green chile, and just hearing the order makes Alex so queasy, all she asks for is plain oatmeal. She and Christen opt for something closer to their normal breakfasts, and then everyone falls silent. Kelley even forgoes her usual joke about Christen’s avocado toast tasting like home foreclosure. It’s a welcome quiet because, even though they all stopped at tipsy, hangovers after turning 30 are so easily triggered and just the _worst_.

There’s a strange tension Tobin is pretty sure exists entirely in her head. Despite her teasing last night, she isn’t all that great about remembering conversations when she’s half-asleep. Who really is? It’s most likely that Christen did try to wake her up before Kelley’s tried-and-true flying squirrel attack, but Tobin dreamt the whole exchange about _kissing_.

Just a regular scheduled figment of her imagination.

No way Christen _really_ offered to kiss her once she woke up. After all, Tobin kissed her (on the cheek, after liberal application of liquid courage) when they were _awake_, and Christen hardly even reacted. Why would she then offer a kiss as an incentive for waking up?

So, yeah, it’s strange and tense because everyone else is busy shoveling carbs into their systems to soak up the remaining alcohol while Tobin’s busy imagining leaning across the table and _kissing Christen_. She knows she’s staring too much but can’t stop and only looks away when Christen turns towards her. Christen doesn’t seem to mind her constant scrutiny, though, and just smiles sunnily whenever Tobin’s too slow to look away and their eyes meet.

Alex, who could barely stomach the idea of food fifteen minutes ago, points her fork at Tobin’s untouched pancakes. “You going to eat that?”

Well, at least someone’s feeling better. She shoves the plate towards Alex, props her elbows on the table, and drops her head into her hands. Tobin doesn’t mean to but she releases a long, frustrated groan.

“Jeez,” she hears Kelley mumble in response to her zombie-like noise, “You know what you need, Tobs? A bloody Mary.”

Tobin tries to tune out the next sequence of events: Alex yelping in surprised disgust, Kelley insisting on the old-fashioned cure of more alcohol, Christen saying she could go for a mimosa, the scraping of chair legs on concrete as Kelley decides to order at the bar inside instead of waiting for their waitress.

“She’s gone now. You can look up.” 

Alex’s sharp words cut into Tobin’s sudden bout of self-pity but they don’t make sense to her. “What?” she mutters to the tabletop.

“Christen. She went inside with Kelley. So you can stop acting like she’s the sun, and it hurts your eyes to look at her for too long.”

Tobin doesn’t even know what to say to that. The description’s entirely too accurate, and any response would be too telling. She lifts her head up to find Alex staring her down with an impatient, knowing expression. 

“Tobin, you’re not fooling anyone but Press. _Do_ something about it.”

“I’m not— She’s not— I can’t just—”

Alex laughs. The sound is a little rough but mainly too tired to be truly unkind. “Even _you_ aren’t that oblivious. Put us all out of our misery and kiss her already.”

The specific suggestion—to _kiss_ Christen—and how it echoes her morning fixation makes Tobin blush and bury her face in her hands again.

“Oh. Are you still not—”

It’s Christen’s concerned voice, and a second later, Tobin feels her presence standing next to her. Christen slides a hand onto the back of her neck and kneads there for a moment before nudging Tobin to lean into her. And Tobin’s too far gone on Christen to do anything other than follow as she’s lead.

Once she’s settled her head against Christen’s stomach and wrapped her arms around her waist, Christen resumes the firm massage on her neck and uses her other hand to comb through her hair. 

It’s as soothing as it is heart racing. 

Tobin’s glad Alex can’t see her face right now. She’s positive she’s bright red and broadcasting every more than friendly emotion she’s ever felt for Christen. And the thing is, with the exception of last night, Christen’s not touchy like Tobin is. Christen doesn’t constantly reach for a hand or a hug like Tobin does. She’s always receptive but she rarely _initiates_ the contact so Tobin knows just how special this is.

Their waitress interrupts to drop off the adult beverages, and Tobin collects herself while Christen settles back in her seat. At Kelley’s insistence, she takes a few sips of the spicy, potent drink. Alex just makes a face.

“Better?” Kelley and her good intentions ask.

Tobin glances at Christen and smiles. “Better.”

* * *

Since she’s always off in her own world, Tobin can be hard to read but she also wears her heart on her sleeve. It’s a duality that shouldn’t work but somehow does. Tobin might literally miss the point at times but if she values having someone in her life, she’ll make it known through her actions and thoughtfulness and sheer amount of effort. She’s direct like that and has probably never played a game (emotional, not video) in her life.

That’s why Christen was positive that if Tobin had feelings for her _like that_, she would know. She wouldn’t have been drowning in uncertainty and second guesses. But she _did _drown and second guess, so how obvious could Tobin have been acting? According to Kelley, pretty damn obvious.

Yet, somehow, she’s missed _all_ the signs because she now has proof positive, an actual ill-gotten confession, that Tobin dreams about kissing her.

And now, _now_, Christen has to figure out what to _do_ with that information.

The potential is somehow freeing and arresting at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad I didn’t die on my hike so I could provide this update.


	6. Chapter Four

Alex _barges_ into the apartment, eyes and fingers occupied with her phone.

“Kiss her yet?” she asks, recklessly loud given that she hasn’t looked up to see who’s actually _in_ the apartment.

Tobin dramatically chokes on her water, frantically waves her arms around, and aggressively shushes Alex. “Will you keep it down? Kelley doesn’t need to—”

“You think Kelley doesn’t know?” Alex cuts her off before glancing down the hallway to Kelley’s closed bedroom door. “Even if it’s not confirmed, she’s not _blind_. And I’ll take that truly pathetic display of panic as a _no_.”

“You’re mean today,” Tobin complains. Alex may be straightforward but she’s not normally cruel about it. And when she is, it’s not usually directed at Tobin.

Alex sighs and drops down onto the couch next to her, nudging against her shoulder in some form of apology. “Mean would be telling you that I spent half the day fielding emails and drop-bys about my hot friend at the soccer thing. Pretty sure it would have the full day if they didn’t close the building for that water line break. And sorry but they weren’t talking about you this time. Kiss her before someone else does.”

“I’m not going to kiss Christen just to beat someone else to it,” Tobin grumbles even though just the idea of it—Christen kissing someone else—makes her heart clench.

Rolling her eyes, Alex readily snaps back, “Then kiss her because you’re somewhere between half- to head-over-cleats in love with her, and I’ve got it on pretty good authority that she likes you back.”

That’s _news_. Christen’s _told_ someone that she likes Tobin? And Alex managed to get a hold of this information? 

Excited, Tobin rushes out, “What authority? Did she say something?”

Alex just goggles at her, stares at her like there’s a second head growing out of her shoulder, before mouthing “oh my god.” “_Eyes_, Tobin. The authority being my _eyes_. That work. And are attached to my functional brain. The same way I can see that _you_ like her, no matter how much you try to act oblivious. You are so hopeless.”

“Don’t remind me,” she whines, dropping her head to Alex’s shoulder in search of sympathy, “Al, I like her so much.”

Alex actually humors her and reaches a hand up to pat her head, nearly poking her eye by accident since she’s not even looking. “I know, bud. You’ve never had a problem going after girls before.”

Alex’s question—_what’s the holdup?_—is unspoken, but Tobin’s answer is immediate and decisive.

“Chris is different.”

It’s the only way Tobin can think to put into words why she’s struggling so much. Christen is just different, special, life-changing, and always has been. Tobin feels weird about the whole thing, too, like she’s reverted back to being twenty-one with poor communication skills (no matter what her major is) and when the only thing that wasn’t confusing was soccer (and the beat of her heart when looking at Christen Press). And there’s too many other factors that can explain how much time Christen spends around her—_them_—considering her long-standing friendship with Kelley and rivals-turned-friends dynamic with Alex. Tobin would try to elaborate on all that, but Alex is already nodding in agreement.

“She is. So what are you going to do about it?”

Tobin has no clue. That’s kind of been the entire problem so she turns the question around. “What do you think I should do?”

“I already told you what to do,” Alex points out, back to being unsympathetic, “and you’re refusing to do it.”

“I’m not that brave,” Tobin admits quietly, and all of Alex’s annoyance bleeds away. 

“Okay, here’s what you’re going to do,” she states decisively, nudging Tobin’s head off her shoulder to look right in her eyes. “You’re going to ask her on a date. I mean, you basically already went on one at the fundraiser so there’s nothing to be scared about.”

Tobin shakes her head in denial. “That wasn’t like a date.” They went as a _group of friends_ to Christen’s work function to support her. It wasn’t like—

“You held her hand and networked, which you _hate_, with her and kept gross dudes from getting too close and I’m pretty sure I saw you whispering in her ear and kissing her, like, _neck_ in _public_, you dog, and then you went home with her.”

Alex is so matter-of-fact about all of it that Tobin’s jaw drops open. She could have sworn Alex had been occupied with Servando and schmoozing. Instead, it sounds like she had plenty of time to watch them. And if that’s what just Alex saw, what does everyone else think is going on with her and Christen? 

“Well that was— I didn’t _realize_ I was— Was aiming for her _cheek_— And there was champagne and Kelley and”—Tobin stumbles through a few denials before reaching the real issue—“I can’t ask her on a date.”

Alex arches an eyebrow that somehow communicates a defiant, “Well, _why not?_” 

It’s a little less scary than out-and-out kissing a friend who may not be—may _never_ be—receptive to her affections, but, “What if she says no? What if it makes her not want to be my friend anymore?”

Grabbing her by the ears, Alex fixes Tobin with the most serious look she’s ever seen on her, and they’ve known each other for half their lives now.

“You cannot quote me on this. Seriously, college-Alex and college-Christen would, like, drop dead from shock. _Never_ repeat this. But. Christen Press is just about the most empathetic person I’ve ever met. You two are pretty much tied for the people in my life who feel the most feelings the most deeply all of the time.”

Alex’s hand clamps down over Tobin’s mouth, muffling any response, and she raises a finger to her own lips before whispering, “Shhh. Just listen. And trust me. You will not let yourself do or say anything to lose Christen as a friend, and Christen will not interpret anything you do or say as a reason to stop being your friend. You both care too freaking much about everything but especially each other. Do you understand me, Tobin?”

“Alex,” Tobin chokes out, trying to process everything that just fell out of her mouth.

There’s a reason her circle has shrunk to Alex and Kelley and mainly those who knew her before their dreams fell apart. She loves her former players and keeps tabs on most of them, especially the ones who keep playing, but Lindsey’s an exception when it comes to being friends with them. The pain of losing soccer, having it _taken_ from her, went too deep and on for too long. Tobin just can’t be hurt again like that, can’t put her entire being into something and have the rug ripped out from under her. And it’s different in this scenario—people aren’t things and everything—but she loves with her whole heart, and sometimes it’s safer just to _not_. But try as Tobin might to hide it and deny it to herself, that Christen’s started to work her way into her heart (again and deeper this time) is painfully obvious.

Sensing the coming denial, Alex lightly shakes her by the shoulders to shut her up. “Stop being stuck in your head about it. Stop talking to me about it. Stop talking to Kelley about it. God, just _do_ something, Tobin!”

And Tobin might actually—no, she most likely will not—just as soon as she clarifies one thing. “Kelley? I haven’t been talking to Kell about—”

“Well, _Christen_ does! And we’re both sick of being stuck in the middle!”

Tobin’s eyes widen. Is that the good authority Alex had denied existed earlier? Is Christen really talking to Kelley about her in the same way that she talks to Alex about Christen? And Kelley tells Alex about it? So much that Alex has snapped and is having a suck attack about being stuck in the middle?

“Hi?”

The quiet greeting breaks into the momentary silence of the apartment. Their heads turn to see Christen standing in the doorway, purse in one hand, phone in the other, and looking beautiful and tentative.

“I can—”

“Nope,” Alex interrupts, flinging herself off the couch, “Do _not_ leave. Come in. _I’m_ leaving _and_ taking Kelley.”

She marches down the hallway and a second later comes back the same way, towing a confused Kelley, headphones dangling around her neck, by the back of her shirt, past Christen, and out the front door.

* * *

She couldn’t stop thinking about it all day at work. 

How unsettled things are between her and Tobin even if Tobin is wholly unaware of it. How she just let Tobin get into a car with Kelley and leave after breakfast. How she went back home and stared at the guest bed with its rumpled sheets and thought about what might have happened if Kelley hadn’t interrupted. How long she can lie to Tobin about intruding on her thoughts with underhanded, ulterior motives.

(Not long at all, she guesses. Now that she knows the truth about her unrequited crush being not-so-unrequited, Christen’s sure she’ll give herself away sooner rather than later. She practically already did at breakfast with all that unprompted cuddling.)

Kelley’s ceaseless texting certainly wasn’t helping matters. Christen was starting to wonder if Kelley ever actually worked because she wouldn’t let up on their half-conscious discussion, needling her about how _friendly_ and supportive Tobin had been, how cozy they looked together at the fundraiser, how Christen should go over and cuddle Tobin some more to make sure she was all recovered. It got to the point that Christen actually turned off her phone instead of getting caught glaring at it for the umpteenth time.

And this wasn’t the best time to be so preoccupied when the executive director was sticking around for a few days before flying back to London, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least she didn’t have anything heavier on her schedule than follow-ups from the events and check-ins on projects that went neglected most of last week. And at least no one minded when she decided to call it quits an hour early, just congratulated her on the weekend’s success and wished her a good night.

Oh, how Christen wishes she could have a good night.

If anything, she’ll just go home and mope about her own cowardice. She’ll have to ignore Kelley’s threats to come drag her out of her office, her usual assumption whenever Christen hasn’t shown up to the apartment by 6. She’ll have to deal with the bleak possibility of no more going to Kelbin O’Heath’s after work because it’s on her way home from the office and happens to contain two of her favorite people in the state of California (and maybe her favorite person in the world).

If she can’t figure out what to do about Tobin—to relax back into being friends or preferably to take a step towards something more—and more importantly _how_, Christen may just have to reconstruct the entire life she’s built.

It’s that depressing thought, and maybe a little bit of autopilot, that almost literally drives her to their parking lot. She recognizes both cars in their designated spots, and Alex’s next to hers in the guest area. A glance at her dashboard tells her it’s still early, earlier than Kelley and Alex usually leave their offices. She’s not sure why they’re both here, but if it had just been Tobin’s car, she would be more tempted to leave and head straight home, no detours this time. Instead, she thinks she can do this. She can go in there and act normal, with the other two girls serving as unwitting buffers, and deal with her cowardice some other time when she’s not also beating herself up for being distracted at work.

Through the front door, Christen can hear Alex yelling about something. (Alex calls it speaking passionately; everyone else agrees but then calls it yelling.) She doesn’t give it a second thought because there’s usually something going on—a Premier League match, Kelley and her pranks, red tape at work, _something_—and just pushes the door open.

The scene inside startles her. 

Alex’s back is to her, but her body language screams frustration. What she can see of Tobin’s expression over Alex’s shoulder is even more concerning. Tobin looks small and unsure, words that have probably never been used to describe her.

She interrupts if only to get that expression off Tobin’s face. Alex whips around to face her, some measure of relief bleeding through her frustration, before she’s launching off the couch and then pulling Kelley out the door with her. Tobin stops looking so shaken, but her look of surprise and panic isn’t much better.

Christen’s left standing in the doorway, realizing that both her buffers have abruptly left, taking her game plan with them, and with the sinking feeling that whatever Alex and Tobin were just arguing about, involves _her_.

The idea of being the one causing Tobin distress, so much that she’s now desperately trying to save face and act normal, is what leads her to step forward into the apartment.

* * *

“Hi, Chris.”

Tobin does her best to sound and smile normal, but Christen’s face stays all scrunched up. She doesn’t even blame her. Even if Tobin isn’t internally freaking about how much of Alex yelling at her Christen overheard, the whole scene was just plain weird, and not one she wants to attempt explaining. _Thanks_, Alex.

Tobin reaches for the remote, trying to act like it’s any other post-work hangout. “Are you going to come in? I don’t know what’s up with those two weirdos, but we can get dinner or something.”

_Like a date_. 

Immediately, Tobin rubs a hand over her lips, like that could somehow check if the unmistakable suggestion really left her mouth. She _thinks_ it stayed in her head, but damn Alex for getting to her. 

“Or just wait till they come back from wherever,” she offers haltingly as an alternate.

“I guess.” Christen seems unsure and confused still, and Tobin looks up to smile reassuringly when she takes a few steps closer, dropping her purse in its usual spot on the end table. “Actually I need to talk to you.”

The sound of Christen sounding so hesitant hurts her heart. Cautiously slow, Tobin hits the power button on the remote and lets it fall from her clammy hand. Wiping her palms on her shorts, she assumes the worst: Christen heard everything, and Tobin‘s made her so uncomfortable she can’t be around them anymore.

“Sure?” It’s her weakest smile of the last few minutes, a real low since being around Christen always makes her smile. That reminder, of how much joy Christen’s brought since re-entering her life, pushes Tobin to _try_ to be a good friend. “Sounds serious. Everything okay?”

“I have something to tell you. It’s kind of intrusive, and I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t even know _why_ I did and I’m just really sorry, Tobin. You have no idea.”

“You’re right,” Tobin agrees with forced levity despite the distress on Christen’s face and the fear running through her own body, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you want to sit and tell me about it?”

Christen takes her up on the invitation but she’s obviously uncomfortable, sitting on the couch as ramrod straight as those first few weeks. Tobin wants to hold her hand or something, provide comfort and support, except she’s not sure that’s even welcome right now. Instead, she impatiently but quietly waits for Christen to find the words.

“This weekend, I found out something personal about you. I want to say it was by accident but really I was being kind of manipulative.”

“Chris, you don’t have a manipulative bone in your body,” Tobin scoffs. 

The denial is instantaneous, and then the relief floods her. Christen’s talking about _this weekend_, and not right just now. Maybe she overheard Tobin saying something she didn’t already know to Lindsey or while making small talk with a donor and is feeling guilty about finding out like that.

For all her apprehension a moment ago, she doesn’t believe Christen could be deliberately deceptive for a second. And whatever Christen thinks she’s done, Tobin’s already forgiven her just based on her contrition and concern so far. Who’s this sorry for stumbling across something? Just like that, all of the uncertainties Alex dredged up are overpowered by her desire to make sure Christen understands everything’s good between them. 

“And we’re _friends_,” it’s a reminder for herself more than Christen, “I’m an open book. If you wanted to know something about me, I would have told you if you asked.”

Christen’s nod is small and reluctant, like she doesn’t believe Tobin would tell her anything she asked. Intent on reassuring Christen she doesn’t care, Tobin asks, “What was it about anyway?” That way she can brush it off and put the whole thing to rest.

“I know you want to kiss me.”

Christen says it so quickly, the words run together, and she doesn’t really catch them at first. Tobin’s just so convinced that whatever it is, it’s some small thing, a minor slip that Christen’s over-analytical mind has run away with. Why would she even care that Christen knows she wants to—

Her blood runs cold.

Christen can’t possibly _know_ that. Not for certain. Tobin’s been so careful to _just_ be friendly and, yeah, sometimes she stares a little too long but she’s also just spacey like that sometimes. That’s the excuse she’s been using since forever, especially when it comes to Christen. No one, except for Alex five minutes ago, has ever called her on it so Christen just _can’t_ know.

Any other time, _anyone else_, and Tobin would have a quip ready on the tip of her tongue. A flattering “Well, who doesn’t?” or “Can you blame me?” before a gentle letdown, but the truth catches her off-guard. She doesn’t know how to deny that, not when it’s so plainly stated, because it would be too dishonest.

“_Chris_,” she starts, trying to form some kind of insistence that it’s all a misunderstanding.

Christen interrupts, apparently not finished with her panicked rambling. “You were half-asleep Sunday morning and you were being so cute and grouchy about waking up, and Kelley made this joke before I went in, and I thought it’d be _funny_, you know? A kiss to wake Sleeping Beauty? And then you were talking about actually _wanting_—”

Tobin coughs, a high-pitched whine of embarrassment strangling in her throat. There’s no misunderstanding that. What can she even say? That she was obviously still asleep and just _dreaming_ about kissing Christen? How would that be any better?

Then Christen’s shaking her head, looking frustrated. “No, wait. That’s not why I said it. I didn’t say it as a joke. I said it because I wanted to, I wanted to kiss you so badly, and if you’d been a little more awake and aware and if Kelley hadn’t interrupted, maybe I would have actually done it. Kissed you, I mean. Since you wanted to, even though you were barely conscious, and I definitely want to as long as you’re fully conscious.”

She hasn’t said anything in too long, and Christen is just sitting there, fidgeting under the weight of her confessions. There’s not enough air in the room to make Tobin’s brain function fast enough. Christen’s been so brave, putting words to a desire Tobin’s fighting for weeks, months, an actual _decade_, and all she wants to do is reciprocate that bravery. It feels like she has too much to say, so many reassurances to give, that she doesn’t know where to start. 

Oh, but her heart knows exactly what to _do_.

Tobin lunges across the couch, crashes gracelessly into Christen’s side, frames her face in absurdly careful hands, and _kisses_ her. Like she’s been wanting to since she was a twenty-one-year-old with her entire soccer future at her feet.

Christen’s surprise lasts barely a second. Then she’s shifting, pulling Tobin impossibly closer, adjusting them to lie comfortably—and _distractingly_—against each other, and slowing down Tobin’s eager lips to a pace that reminds her they’re not still in their early twenties and have a little more experience at this. It’s soft and intimate, and occasionally they’re hardly even brushing their lips together because they’re smiling too wide to kiss for real. Eventually, Christen breaks away on a gasp, drawing in a deep breath as her head falls back.

Tobin grins at the woman lying beneath her, an actual dream and fantasy ten years in the making. She doesn’t let Christen catch her breath for long but pushes further up and says right against her lips, “Asleep or awake, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Tobin’s not sure exactly what Christen finds so funny, but it doesn’t matter—not even when Christen laughs, “_Wanna bet?_”—because they’re kissing again, and she never wants to stop.

* * *

Christen thinks Kelley should be a little more concerned to walk back into her apartment and find two of her friends, one of them being her roommate, making out on the couch. 

But Kelley’s not concerned at all. 

She just mutters, “_Finally_,” and shoves them upright so she has enough room to sit before warning, “Do _not_ bang on this couch. We spend too much time here.”

Both she and Tobin turn even redder but before they can respond, Alex walks in a second later and surveys the scene with a perfectly straight face. “Well?” she asks impatiently.

“I kissed her!” Tobin announces gleefully. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Christen’s glad the interruption before they even have a chance to talk about what’s happening isn’t dampening her mood. Then she realizes what Tobin’s taking credit for.

Christen lightly smacks her shoulder. “I practically issued you an invitation. You don’t get to be arrogant about it _now_.”

Tobin turns to beam at her then bounces forward for a quick peck. “Okay, Chris,” she agrees, like it’s that easy, and Christen’s blushing because of how natural and effortless that just was.

Simultaneously, Kelley and Alex roll their eyes.

“Are we going to regret this?” Alex questions on a sigh.

Kelley looks over at them with such intense scrutiny that Christen’s fidgeting again before she answers Alex. “Can’t be worse than watching thirty-somethings flirt as badly as when they were twenty-somethings. Give me a minute to get sick of the lovey-dovey crap because I’m definitely sick of the denial-plagued idiots who’ve been making eyes at each other for an actual freaking decade.”

“_What!?_” 

Christen jerks upright from where she’s been unconsciously leaning into Tobin’s side. 

“A decade?” she laughs nervously, “We weren’t— I don’t what you’re talking about.”

“Press, _everyone_ knew,” Kelley insists with an exasperated look.

“_No one_ knew,” she hisses back just as insistently.

“Right. That’s why when I told Alex, who wasn’t even there, her response was like, _yeah, duh_,” Alex just shrugs in agreement and takes a seat on the recliner, “And that’s why Lindsey’s suggested locking you two in a room together practically the first time she met you. And that’s why I _actually_,“accidentally” locked you two in a room together that night in Maryland. And that’s why, for months now, I’ve conveniently forgotten how long it takes to get to the apartment I’ve lived in for two years, every time you were about to come over.”

Kelley pauses for a second, letting it all sink in, then she concludes, crassly, “_My ass_, no one knew.”

Christen can’t even respond. Were they really both that obvious for all this time? She should have just kissed Tobin the first night she came over here, or even back in their Pali Blues days. (Not that she would have, but it doesn’t feel great to learn that her secret crush wasn’t a secret at all.)

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Tobin asks curiously. 

There’s that effortless calm she’s always admired. Unlike Christen, Tobin doesn’t sound particularly concerned about being so transparent all this time or Kelley’s meddling. Why is she the only one who thinks they need to focus more on Kelley’s meddling that sounds a little like kidnapping?

Kelley throws her hands up in more exasperation. “What good would that have done? Make Christen hyperventilate herself into a panic attack trying to deny it? Destroy your entire strategy of following Pressy around like a lovesick puppy because you think everyone else thinks you’re oblivious?”

“That’s not—"

The exact same denial starts to come from both of them before they cut themselves off simultaneously and half-turn to exchange sheepish looks.

Christen picks up Tobin’s hand from her thigh to intertwine their fingers and offers a timid smile. “Maybe we should talk about this? In private,” she tacks on over Kelley’s wolf-whistle.

“I’d love that,” Tobin beams at her before it slips into a sly smirk, “Your place?”

They’re halfway to the door when Christen abruptly turns back to their friends. “Uh, about dinner—”

“Bye,” Alex dismisses them pointedly, somehow, without even looking up from her phone.

Then Tobin’s tugging on their joined hands, pulling her out the door, pushing her up against the other side of it, and kissing her again, so insistently and so thoroughly it’s like they were never meant to be doing anything else.

Until Kelley’s pounding on the door from the inside and yelling, “Oh my god, leave already!”

* * *

“Remind me. How long have you wanted to kiss me?”

Tobin draws the tip of her nose down the line of Christen’s and does her best to focus on the question instead of how it feels to have all of Christen Press _pressed_ against all of her. It’s almost like she’s having a fever dream: in Christen’s bed, clothes _on_ because they’ve got all the time in the world but pretty disheveled because they don’t have _that_ much self-restraint, lying next to each other, lined up from head to toe with intertwined legs, sharing a pillow, faces separated by only the scant inches necessary for eyes to focus. Tobin’s so busy committing the moment to memory that she almost forgets to answer.

“Remember your first goal when we played for Pali?”

Her question comes out as breathlessly as Christen’s, who just nods mindlessly, more focused on Tobin’s dilated pupils and brushing her fingers over her lips. So it takes a second for the implication to register. Then Christen widens her eyes almost comically before she breathes out, “_No_.”

“Yeah huh,” Tobin insists. She can’t help herself anymore and leans forward for a quick kiss that doesn’t stay quick. When they break apart, Christen’s still looking skeptical so she sighs, “I mean, you were cute before, but watching you get past three defenders, make the run past two more, and slot it in? It all just clicked. You were, like, my dream girl.”

“You never said anything,” Christen whispers before shaking her head, “I never noticed.”

“Didn’t want you to,” Tobin shrugs like it should have been obvious. “I wasn’t going to, like— Chris, you were cute and nice and going to Stanford and incredible at soccer, and we had to play together all summer. Wasn’t going to embarrass myself or make things weird.”

“You don’t”—Christen tenses up, looking incredulous and frustrated—“It felt like I was always looking at you, always having to make myself turn away. _How_ did I not notice?”

A flush races its way up to Tobin’s face as she realizes exactly what Christen’s trying to say. Sure, Kelley basically said it earlier, but it’s different coming from the woman herself. Christen crushed on her back then, too, and the knowledge almost makes her giddy.

“Yeah?” The question is shy but somehow smug. “How long have _you_ been wanting to kiss _me?_”

Christen looks away, pretending to think hard, before there’s this sly, little smirk that Tobin absolutely wants to kiss off her face. “Remember your first goal when we played for Pali?”

“That’s a cop-out,” she argues, scandalized, “You can’t steal my answer.”

“You nutmegged the _goalie_, Tobin. What was I supposed to do?” Christen pushes at her shoulder and climbs on top of her like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like it doesn’t take Tobin’s breath away, before she continues, “And then later you were geeking out over Harry Potter, and it was the cutest damn thing. I was just sunk after that.”

Tobin’s got her hands on Christen’s hips, she’s staring steadily into the gray-green eyes she’s only snuck glances at before because she was too worried real eye contact would give her away, and everything about this feels monumental. 

When Christen leans forward, Tobin’s ready for it, but Christen doesn’t land on her lips. Instead, she slips left and softly kisses the curve of her jawbone, mirroring the same spot Tobin kissed her at the fundraiser. Her heart skips as Christen practically melts into her and sighs, quiet and content, against her neck before worming her hands under Tobin’s back so she can hug her tightly. That’s what really settles it for Tobin, even if the words were good, too. That chaste, little kiss is the final confirmation that Christen’s been just as deep in this, cataloging every little interaction like Tobin does. At the revelation, Tobin holds Christen as tight as she can.

Eventually, Christen pulls back a little but doesn’t go far, shifting to rest their foreheads together. Tobin goes a little cross-eyed trying to take in Christen’s happy eyes and bright smile at the same time but she recognizes this specific smile and doesn’t want to miss a second. It’s just a little wider and crinkles the corners of her eyes, and Tobin thinks she might like to claim it as hers, as Christen’s Tobin smile, like how Tobin’s got a Christen smile of her own.

“We took our time getting here, huh?” Tobin almost chokes but she says the next words as steadily as she can, hope and desire shining through each syllable. “Should probably stay awhile.”

Christen doesn’t even hesitate. “Wouldn’t be a grand romance if we didn’t.”

* * *

Away from Kelley’s teasing and Alex’s smugness, Christen’s worries fade away.

It’s just her and Tobin, like it has been for months of afternoons, like she’s wanted for much longer than that, and like Tobin’s wanted for just as long. Except it’s so much better because Tobin’s got all of that crazy intense focus she reserves for soccer on Christen and for the first time Christen’s not shying away from it, scared to give away her feelings.

The vice loosens around her heart, and it’s like her entire body sighs in relief, no longer having to pretend like her very cells aren’t drawn towards Tobin Heath. Suddenly, Christen feels free to reciprocate every little gesture she’s cherished over the last few months but was too self-conscious to return in the moment. She carefully traces each feature of Tobin’s ridiculously attractive face, kisses her jaw in that objectively friendly but secretly intimate manner, hugs her tight to ward off disappointments and doubts, and tells her she’s definitely the type for a grand romance.

Wouldn’t you know it, so is Christen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, short epilogue to put a bow on it.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strung together over 18,000 words just to get to the last half of the last scene. Like _why?_

“I thought your plan was to do nothing,” a newly back-in-town Lindsey huffs in annoyance. 

Kelley waves a dismissive hand. “My plan was for _you_ to do nothing so you wouldn’t mess up my amazing plan that was already in motion.”

“Your amazing plan that took _ten_ _years_ to work?” Lindsey deadpans. “We should fix your definition of amazing.”

Alex snickers, and Kelley shoots her a dirty look. They’re back on the same page a second later because Lindsey’s frowning at something behind them and muttering, “I also thought you said they figured it out.” 

“They did!” Alex and Kelley chorus before turning to follow Lindsey’s gaze to the other side of the pitch. For a moment, they’re speechless, and then Kelley groans at the scene that transports her back ten years to a pitch not too far away in Pacific Palisades.

Tobin and Christen are passing a ball back and forth until Tobin traps it. She makes like she’s going to send it back to Christen but stops it short at the last moment. Tobin does this three times before a pouting Christen rushes forward to just _take_ the ball. Which was obviously Tobin’s plan all along because she flicks the ball between Christen’s legs and dribbles right at them. Christen’s speed is erasing her head start, though, so Tobin hurriedly passes the ball to Kelley and dives for cover behind Lindsey.

“_Tobin!_”

Christen’s not actually annoyed since the smile that hasn’t left her face in _weeks_ is still there. Any irritation she’s feeling disappears entirely when she sees Lindsey standing with them and turns her charging after Tobin into a tight hug for the younger woman as thanks for her help with the pitch opening. Lindsey’s waggling eyebrows give a double meaning to her heartfelt “Congratulations!” before she reaches behind her back to snag Tobin and shove her at Christen.

Christen laughs, steadying Tobin before she can fall over from the unexpected motion, and then holds onto her tighter for no reason other than she wants to and can. Tobin’s arm curls over Christen’s shoulders as proof that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Oh, thanks, just what I always wanted.” Christen’s trying for sarcasm but comes up short, and Tobin smiles shyly at the genuine truth that slips through.

“Sorry I ’megged you,” she rubs her free hand across the back of her neck and turns on her best apologetic smile, “I was trying to flirt.”

“Yeah?” Christen rolls her eyes, but it’s half-hearted and just for show, “What’s your excuse for the _hundreds_ of times you’ve done it to me before?”

Tobin’s smile widens, and she reveals her own truth. “Always been the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m fairly certain I’ve gotten this pairing (and RPF) out of my system so I may or may not see y’all back here.


End file.
